Confession: Sunday Shoes

My daughter and I went shopping, a couple of days ago, for a new pair of Sunday shoes. We past by the patten leather shoes I wanted to buy for her and went 6 isles up to her actual size, (which is frighteningly close to the isle with my size). I searched the rows over and over again, looking for an older version of the perfect Sunday shoe.  When I couldn’t find them, I looked through the flats, not wasting time on the flip flops, because of the talk given by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland. (Remembering that we are not going to the beach we are going to church) And of course I was ruling out out all of the heels because my mother wouldn’t let me wear heals until I was 16, and there are certain 10 cow wives who would certainly judge me for letting her…but all I could find was the most hideous pair of flats and I couldn’t bear to even offer them to her. So I moved on to a small, heel with a pointed toe and a cute little button. Even though they still looked older than I was comfortable with her wearing. Then my compassionate daughter smiled and said, “Well, if you are willing to buy me those, than you are going to love these.” She went to the sale isle and pulled off a pair of beautiful, classy, black patten leather shoes with a cute little bow on the open toe. They are three inch heels. My name is Bianca and I let my 13 year old daughter wear 3 inch heels. And I couldn’t be more pleased. She has always been the great negotiator. And despite the looks we get when someone gets a glimpse of them poking out of her floor length, maxi dress, and the fact that my Mother in-law has already passed judgement, they remind me of her first pair of Sunday shoes only higher and with a bow.